


4 Times Phil and Carl Talked about Martin on Phil’s Couch and the 1 Time When They Didn’t

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Advice, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 22:26:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4497066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just what it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Enremus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enremus/gifts).



**One**

Carl sank onto the couch, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

“I have a problem,” he admitted, more to the television than to Phil.

Phil nodded, taking a drink. “So do I. It’s sitting on my couch cheering for Arsenal.”

He turned to glance at Carl, seeing Carl grin and tug proudly at his Arsenal-branded jersey. Phil rolled his eyes and took another drink.

Carl leaned his head back on the couch, looking over at Phil. “I like this guy.”

“We’ve been over this, Carl. You’re my mate and I love you but I don’t go in for that.”

Carl laughed, shaking his head as he sat up to grab his beer. He slouched back again and took a long drink, his eyes on the telly but clearly not following the match.

“I like Martin.”

“Martin?” Phil asked, not following Carl’s train of thought. “Martin who-” Carl glanced at him, the top of his bottle poised at his lips. “ _Martin Crieff?_ ” Phil questioned as Carl nodded and finished off his drink. He stammered a few times before managing, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Carl said, turning the empty bottle in his hands.

“When?”

Carl rubbed a hand over his brow. “I don’t know.”

“How?”

“I don’t know!” Carl answered, shrugging helpless with the thankfully empty bottle. “I invited him out for an apology pint after the whole Hose-and-Hydrant-secret-pub thing and…” Carl sighed. “He’s not as bad as he seems.”

Phil found that hard to believe. “He seems pretty bad.”

“I know,” Carl nodded. He sighed again, getting up to get himself another beer. He returned after missing a goal, dropping heavily onto the couch and tossing the bottle cap onto the coffee table. “But it’s like a defense mechanism or something,” he said after taking a drink. “He doesn’t think people respect him so he pushes to be more professional thinking they will only it makes him look like an arse.”

“A pompous, condescening arse,” Phil clarified.

“I tried to explain that to him.” Carl shook his head. “I don’t think he got it.”

Phil watched Carl settle, not even looking at the match now. He stared at his beer, drawing his thumb along the label in a textbook Carl-in-thought fashion. Phil tried to remember the last time Carl admitted to liking someone; it felt like ages ago and if he remembered correctly, it hadn’t ended well.

“So are you going to ask him out?”

Carl sputtered, both surprised and caught in mid-drink.

“Why?” he coughed.

“Because you’ve been spending way too much time sitting on my couch, drinking my beer,” Phil said, gesturing to the beer in Carl’s hand as proof. “You need someone else in your life so you can sit on _their_ couch and drink _their_ beer.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “What I _need_ is a good fuck,” he muttered into his bottle.

“And you are _not_ getting that here.” Carl turned to bat his eyes at him and Phil gave him a good shove. “Just ask him.”

Carl’s ease fell away. “But-”

“What’s he going to do?” Phil asked. “Say ‘no’ to the only person on the airfield who likes him?”

Carl considered Phil’s point for a while before acknowledging it with a small nod. He looked back at the telly, smiling when he saw that Arsenal was up.

“Thanks, Phil.”

Phil finished off his beer, clapping Carl on the shoulder as he stood to get another.

“Anytime, mate.”

* * *

**Two**

Phil felt Carl watching him - him and not the game - during the whole first half. He got up to get another beer and second bag of crisps, feeling Carl’s eyes on him as he walked to and from the kitchen. He sank back into his seat and took a long drink.

“You can tell me about it _if_ you leave out the details.”

“We went to dinner,” Carl said quickly, clearly still excited about the whole thing.

“That’s nice,” Phil acknowledged.

“Then we drove out to watch planes come in at the airport.”

Phil couldn’t stop his laughter. “That’s _romantic_. Let me guess: third date will be at the air museum?”

“Shut up. You’re one to talk,” Carl said, poking Phil in his shoulder. “What about that fire department history documentary?”

“That was interesting!” Phil argued.

Carl shook his head. “That’s not what she said.”

Phil pulled away from Carl, taking only his beer for company.

"That's why we don't double date anymore."

Carl grinned from a distance, giving Phil his space to sulk. The documentary _had_ been interesting, regardless of what his date had said. Phil took a long drink, remembering that Carl’s date had at least made the best out of it even if the man’s good humor hadn’t lasted longer than that first night.

Carl leaned over, resting his head on the back of the couch, smiling up at Phil.

"We had sex."

“And that’s the _end_ of your story,” Phil said, pushing Carl away.

“Twice,” Carl added.

Phil frowned at what he belatedly realized was Carl’s I-just-had-sex face. “I said no details.”

“That’s not a detail,” Carl countered. “That is a _main_ point. Details would be if I told you he-”

They both dropped their beers, the bottles thankfully not shattering as Phil tackled Carl, trying to silence him with a handful of crisps.

* * *

**Three**

Phil yawned as he walked into the living room. It was too early to be up on a non-work day but he couldn’t go back to sleep until he appeased his hunger and got something in his stomach. He reached the kitchen door before his still waking mind recognized that something was wrong.

Phil turned around and saw Carl sitting on the couch.

“You’re still here.”

“I’m still here,” Carl said quietly.

Phil went to sit next to him. Carl didn’t look up when Phil put a hand on his shoulder.

“Did you sleep?” Phil asked.

Carl turned then, his red, tired eyes answering for him.

“Did he call?” Carl’s gaze fell and Phil followed it to his mobile on the coffee table, presumably where it had sat all night, unused. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, giving Carl’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “He’ll call. He didn’t mean it.”

Carl looked up, a frown trying to crease his features.

“It’s _Martin_ ,” Carl said, speaking Martin’s name with equal parts anger and despair. “He means _everything_ he says.”

“Yeah,” Phil acknowledged, “but he also says a lot of stupid things. You, of all people, should know that. What did you call it?” he asked, thinking back over the months to when it all started. It came to him along with the unfortunate memory that Arsenal had won. “A defense mechanism. He gets shown up, he panics, and he says something stupid. It happens all the time.”

Carl shook his head, his eyes falling to his hands twisting the hem of his shirt.

“This is different.”

Phil shook his head. “It’s exactly the same only this time he turned on you even though you were only trying to help.” He picked up Carl’s mobile and put it in his hands, taking the place of his shirt. “He’ll come around. He’ll call.”

Carl sighed, drawing his thumb over the dark screen. “You always say that.”

Phil moved closer, his hand gradually firming on Carl’s shoulder until Carl looked at him.

“And I’m always right.”

Carl held his gaze, wearing a defeated look that Phil had hoped never to see again. Phil smiled slightly, hoping Carl would follow, wanting to see some levity in him even if it was just for a moment. Carl looked down at his mobile and let out a long, tired sigh.

“Do you have anything to eat?” Carl asked, the barest hints of a smile visible at the corners of his mouth. “I’m starving.”

Phil’s hunger reared up at the mention of food. His stomach growled loudly and Carl laughed, looking much more like himself. Phil pushed him off the couch, relief stealing away all the bite from his words.

“You know where everything is; get _yourself_ something to eat. And make me some toast while you’re at it.”

* * *

**Four**

Carl walked straight into Phil’s flat, holding his mobile up when Phil looked back at him.

“Did you unfollow me on Twitter?”

Phil nodded, turning back to the telly. “Yeah, I did.”

He heard Carl go into the kitchen and come back with a beer. He walked up to the couch and tossed the bottle cap onto the coffee table.

“Why?”

Phil let his head fall back, looking up at Carl. “You’re much less interesting now that you’re so sickeningly happy.”

“It’s not that bad,” Carl said, coming around to sit next to him.

Phil raised a skeptical brow, setting his beer down when Carl continued to claim innocence. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and brought up Carl’s Twitter feed, not having to scroll far until he found something about Martin.

“ _It took all day but Martin finally finished moving his things in. I have no idea where all these books are going to go_ ,” he read to a smiling Carl. “ _I still can’t find a single one of my books but waking up next to Martin every morning is more than worth the hassle._

Martin skywrote 'M&C' in a giant heart over the airfield. #BestBoyfriendEver.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “You made that last one up.”

“No, it’s here,” Phil said, pointing at his screen, “complete with a picture and heart emojis.”

Carl shook his head, pulling out his own mobile, holding Phil at arm’s length when he tried to peer at the screen.

“This just in,” Carl said as he typed, “@fittonfirephil hates love.”

“I do not hate-” Phil’s tongue got stuck on the word as he realized exactly what Carl had said. “Did you say 'love'?”

Carl’s playful grin softened into something more thoughtful. He was quiet as he turned his mobile in his hand, watching the tweet with the word in question disappear and resurface a few times.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I did.”

Phil smiled as Carl turned to him and shrugged, looking happier than Phil had seen him in a long time. He tapped the ‘Follow’ button on Carl’s profile, picking up and pointing his beer warningly when Carl grinned triumphantly at the notification.

“If you tweet more than one cutesy couple selfie a day, I’m unfollowing you for good.”


	2. Chapter 2

**And One**

Phil had just gotten comfortable when there was a knock on his door. He looked back at it and chose to take a drink of beer instead. The door was open; there was no reason he had to get up.

Carl didn’t come in. There was another knock and even if for some reason Carl was unable to open the door on his own, Phil was tempted to leave him out in the hall for showing up after he was already settled.

Sheer irritation forced Phil out of his seat at the third knock.

“Since when do you knock?” he asked, throwing the door open. Confusion quickly replaced his annoyance when Phil saw Martin standing anxiously on the other side. “Oh. Hi Martin.”

“Hi Phil. Can I come in?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Phil said, opening the door wider to let Martin in. “Did you want a beer?”

Martin shook his head. “No, thank you.”

They stood just inside the front door, both looking equally unsure as to what do with themselves. Phil liked Martin well enough - much more than he had before Carl started dating him; much more than some of the previous people Carl dated - but they didn’t spend a lot of time together without Carl. Phil canted his head towards the telly and the couch.

“Did you want to sit down?”

“Sure,” Martin agreed, following Phil back to the couch.

Phil picked up his beer and tried to reestablish his comfortable position. Martin sat next to him in Carl’s usual seat, sitting on the edge of the couch where Carl would’ve sank into the cushions alongside Phil.

“How’s the match going?” Martin asked.

Phil sat up to be even with Martin. He knew Martin didn’t really care for footy but he asked because Phil and Carl cared about it.

“Carl’s precious Arsenal is down,” Phil pointed out, gesturing at the score. “That’s always a good thing.”

Martin chuckled, gaining a slight ease at the mention of Carl, and Phil couldn’t help but laugh a bit too.

“Are you sure you don’t want a beer?” Phil asked again.

Martin waved off the offer with a smile. “No. I’m fine, really.”

Phil nodded and took a drink of his. “So what’s up, Martin?”

“What about the match?” Martin asked, pointing at the television.

“I can do two things at once,” Phil assured him.

Martin nodded, his gaze falling down to the coffee table. He picked up one of the bottle caps on the table and rolled it between his forefinger and thumb.

“I wanted to get your opinion on something.”

“Okay.”

Martin took a deep breath and turned to face Phil, his hands stilling, closing around the bottle cap.

“I’m going to ask Carl to marry me.”

Phil smiled, giving his head a small shake. He’d been expecting Martin or Carl to bring up the marriage thing for a few months now. He was actually surprised Carl had yet to mention it; he’d have to give Dirk twenty quid the next time he saw him.

Martin seemed to misinterpret the action. He frowned slightly, worry, of all things, showing on his face.

“Do you not think he’ll say ‘yes’?” Martin asked, beginning to wring his hands together.

Phil laughed much harder than he meant to, unintentionally escalating the worry on Martin’s face into near panic. He reached out and put a hand on Martin’s shoulder.

“Martin, I don’t know how you missed this but Carl’s mad about you, has been, since the beginning. Honestly, I’m a little tired of hearing him talk about you.” Phil let Martin roll his eyes, glad that Martin was getting better at recognizing a joke when he heard one. He squeezed Martin’s shoulder lightly until Martin met his gaze. “He’ll say ‘yes,’” Phil assured him, speaking without a doubt. “It was never a question.”

Martin smiled, seeming to absorb most of Phil’s confidence on the matter. He still looked nervous but in a way, Phil thought that was appropriate. Phil finished his drink and clapped Martin on the shoulder as he stood up.

“You need a beer,” he declared, heading for the kitchen.

“Phil, really, it’s-”

“Required,” Phil interrupted. “You’re sitting on my couch, telling me you’re going to marry my best mate; you’re going to have a beer.”

Martin didn’t argue as Phil went into the kitchen and returned with two new bottles. He opened both, dropping the bottle caps on the coffee table, and handed Martin his as he sat down. They both took a drink, Phil’s a bit longer than Martin’s. Arsenal had pulled ahead again, reminding Phil of that day Carl first threw out the notion that he liked Martin.

“I’m glad it’s you,” Phil admitted at the next commercial break.

Martin was clearly surprised that the conversation wasn’t over, looking to Phil with his beer poised at his lips. He didn’t drink but lowered the bottle and listened.

“I’ve seen Carl go through some _shit_ , shit he never deserved, but I’m glad he has you now. You’re good for him. You’re good _to_ him,” Phil stressed, “and if he’s going to marry someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Martin was quiet for a while as he considered Phil’s words. He smiled slowly, his hands tightening around his beer.

“Thanks, Phil.”

Phil raised his drink to Martin, offering him a warm smile in return.

"Anytime, mate."


End file.
